


Man Up

by SubwayWolf



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Angry Sex, Boss/Employee Relationship, Bottom Jack, Desk Sex, Flashback Jack/Tim, M/M, Office Blow Jobs, Past Violence, Pet Names, Timelines Don't Really Add Up Sorry lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-04 11:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5333003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubwayWolf/pseuds/SubwayWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack willingly lets Rhys top! Kind of. Sort of. Not really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kogimaru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kogimaru/gifts).



> 'Tis the season to give gifts to people I care about... and to a few freaks on the internet who I happen to talk to. These go out to a triumvirate of dirty Rhack shippers on Twitter. I'm trying to stay pure and innocent by reppin' Rhys/Vaughn but these sinners keep putting their hands on me and pulling me straight down to hell with them. I'm going to be posting these as I finish them because I promised a certain someone this would be situationally-based and in no way relating to Christmas at all.
> 
> It's my first Borderlands thing I'm posting here despite this being my biggest and longest-running fandom next to the NFL. Fun fact: I have over three years' worth (~60k) of nsfw Handsome Jack fanfic written up, but uh... you ever hear of That Guy Who Can't Imagine Fanfic Of His Favorite Character Banging Anyone Besides His OC? Well... I'm that guy. Guilty as fuckin' charged.
> 
> ANYWAY, This first one goes to my brofriend Oni ([twitter](https://twitter.com/onimata) / [tumblr](http://onimata.tumblr.com/)). Just like two peas in a pod, we're as close as two bara tiddies on a handsome CEO's chest. Happy holidays, bro!!! I hope this lives up to your standards! ILY!!!!!! ;)

Rhys was typically a noisy little bitch during sex of any variety, but today something was off. Today, he was quiet and resigned, and that was particularly annoying because Jack didn’t get on his knees for just anyone. 

Jack was not only relinquishing his own precious time to schedule a special meeting during the day to invite Rhys up to his office, but also he was blowing the guy right at Jack’s own desk. He didn’t let Rhys sit in the big chair, of course, but this was close enough. So the way Rhys was acting was completely unwarranted.

Of course, Jack wouldn’t be doing this if it required too much effort. Luckily, Rhys’ cock was average-sized at best, so Jack could go to work with some ease. With his head between Rhys’ thighs, Jack expertly used his tongue to trail circles and stripes along the most sensitive parts of the head and shaft, and without delay dipped his head down balls-deep, all while keeping level eye contact, but Rhys was not reacting as he should have been.

Instead of squirming in his seat while throwing his head back and making those sweet, endearing little mews and moans as usual, Rhys was staring across the room, silent, his hands on the armrests of the black leather chair, with a look of distress creasing his brow. This wasn’t due to Jack’s lack of skill, of course – Jack knew he was skilled, there was no denying it, so it couldn’t be that. Rhys had this sad little frown on his face and if Jack narrowed his eyes to look closely he thought Rhys’ lips were quivering, too. Oh, for the love of god. Was he crying? No, not yet, but he was certainly on the verge and getting closer with every passing second.

Jack would be lying if he said he wasn’t fond of this thirsty little fanboy, but it’s not like he would ever admit it – not aloud, at least. This freeze response didn’t exactly concern him, at least not on any level he should be worried about, but it was seriously killing the mood. And being annoyed was the worst adversary to being turned on.

The solution that came to Jack’s mind first was to knock on the back door, but when he moved his hand towards Rhys’ hole to prod a finger inside, Rhys shifted his hips back, recoiling away, then reflexively closing his legs as much as he could until they urged in against Jack’s shoulders, blocking any access points should Jack try and snake his way up there anyway.

This was beyond the last straw. Jack removed his mouth from Rhys’ cock, leaving it wet and prone to get quickly cold. Rhys looked down at him, worried that Jack was catching on to whatever was going on. 

Jack narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What’s wrong with you?” he pried. “You’re quiet today. It’s making this really boring for me.” This, of course, was the absolute extent of affection Jack could give to one person. It exhausted him, and it would probably be a long while before he was nice again.

The pitiful levels of empathy in the concern meant it would take more than this to get Rhys to crack. His lips turned down in a pathetic little frown, and then he turned his eyes away, looking across the room and again focusing on nothing. 

“Nothing’s wrong, Jack,” Rhys flat out lied, which was annoying, because he _knew_ Jack didn’t like liars. “Don’t worry.” Rhys interpreting worry as care was pretty bold of an assumption, even for him. Jack figured that it was more dismissive than presumptuous, though.

Jack wasn’t particularly fond of asking the same question more than once, but he gave Rhys a free pass because of how close they were. “ _Something's_ wrong. You’ve got that sissy pout on your face, you won’t look at me…” 

He raised a hand to Rhys’ stomach and just placed it there, just to feel. Rhys’ wasn’t particularly toned but Jack could feel the tense, taut abdominal muscles firm with fear beneath his soft skin. “And you’re all tense. Why are you freezing up, baby doll? What’s your problem?” 

Rhys didn’t say a word. Quickly growing bored, Jack shifted in position so he wasn’t sitting back but instead fully upright on his knees. This made him taller and closer to Rhys’ face. He moved a hand to Rhys’ cock and took it lightly in his hand, rocking his body forward so its head and shaft slid right up the center of his chest, up the ridges of his pectoral muscles, creating a friction-based sensation more pleasurable to Rhys than Jack, in all honesty. Yet Rhys reacted with little more than a sigh.

Impatient, Jack rocked his body back and then forward yet again, warm pressure trailing and thrusting between the skin of his chest as Rhys’ stiff cock slid up and then down again. Jack was desperate to get a reaction out of the kid – for him to gasp, clench his fist, even a blink would’ve been nice. But that sad frown was still plastered onto his pretty lips. 

“Come on, Rhysie,” Jack urged, not even bothering to suppress the annoyance in his tone. “If you’re in a bad mood or something, at least _pretend_ like you’re having a good time. I want to hear those pretty noises and slutty moans coming from your mouth, baby.”

Rhys bared his teeth. “Go fuck yourself.” 

Jack’s lips parted as his jaw laxed. The repeated words fell out of him effortlessly. “Go fuck myself?” 

* * *

_Go fuck yourself._

The hero Achilles defeated the great Trojan warrior Hector while Hector was wearing Achilles’ armor, so the battle was, according to a bunch of really smart English professors, an allegory to Achilles killing himself. 

Those same ancient Greeks and Romans considered beauty to be a virtue just as much as they did strength and valiance. And in that story, the beautiful hero won… as he always did. 

Of course, there was a far less academic approach to fucking yourself. 

None of this required justification, but Jack gave it to himself anyway by rationalizing that he was taking advantage of a rare opportunity. Any sane human being would be lying if they said they wouldn’t fuck their own body double. Jack was no sane human being, but he did have the luck to have a body double all to himself. 

Of course the procedure was done for other purposes – diversion, combat, expendability, and other pragmatic crap like that. But was the program really worthwhile if Jack didn’t get to enjoy the double in other ways? The answer, of course, was no. 

This was beyond describable on a psychological standpoint. Freud would have a goddamn field day with this. Jack wasn’t one to self-diagnose but if he were ever to read a list of symptoms of narcissistic personality disorder, he was confident that fucking your own body double was right at the top. 

It happened often. The kid, his name was… Jim? Timothy? Something like that – it didn’t matter. Jack called him _Jack_. Jack Himself called the double up to his office and bent him over the desk, grabbed him by the hair and forced him on his knees, or wrapped his hands around the kid’s throat – it didn’t matter. It always ended the same way: with Jack orgasming like he had never orgasmed before. 

As often as this occurred, it stopped suddenly when the kid pulled a trick Jack never expected. The kid asked to see Jack without his mask. 

The request made Jack physically ill and made his hands shake. Before he got mad, he was fascinated, and a bit impressed. It was interesting that the kid had the audacity to do that – not just because Jack forbade him from speaking, but also because nobody in their right mind had ever asked that before. 

So, Jack showed him. 

And Jack fucked himself. 

And Jack killed himself. Sort of. 

Jack had always thought that bladed weapons were vulgar. Jakobs was the first company to stick blades on their cheap cowboy pistols and Hyperion soon followed, except their blades were stainless steel and laser-sharpened instead, not rusty tetanus risks. As he opened a drawer on his desk and picked up the pistol, he vaguely recalled some saying about knives and gun fights, but it slipped his mind just as quick. 

Jack had never killed anyone in this specific way before, and it startled him how long it took, relatively. He liked the feeling of the blood waterfalling down his still-trembling fingers, the life force unmatchably warm. It was fascinating how Tim barely made a sound until the end, where his final exhalation was flooded with blood which he choked up with a sloppy cough – his last breath. 

This wasn’t as intimate as strangulation, but Jack wasn’t sure if he deserved intimacy. The kid did, definitely, but Jack didn’t, and this was, by all intents and purposes, suicide, right? 

Maybe not. No, no, it was definitely not. Obviously Jack was looking into this too much. This wasn’t poetry or a metaphor or a work of literature, it was just murder. It wasn’t interpretative fiction, but definite art. 

Out of nothing more than curiosity, Jack had stepped around Tim’s body and looked down at his face. The boy died with fear in his eyes. Typical. It was almost a shame that he had to go, but he did have to go. Unfortunately for him, there was only room for one Handsome Jack in the world. 

When Jack put his mask back in place, his hands finally stopped shaking. 

* * *

Jack stared at Rhys blankly. He repeated himself yet again. “Go fuck myself? Is that what you just said?” 

Finally realizing that Jack wasn’t going to let off until he received an answer that satisfied him, Rhys sighed again. “I’m sorry.” He raised a hand to his eyes and rubbed at them tiredly. “I’ve just… I had a long day.” He put his hand down. “Not like you care,” he mumbled.

Jack grinned. Rhys was such a little bitch. Oh, but Jack loved it so much. “Aw. Sweetie.” Rhys didn’t even react, which was odd, because the pet names usually made him melt. “Hey, look at me. Let me see those pretty eyes,” he coaxed, voice sweet like syrup.

It was the amiable tone of Jack’s voice that got Rhys to finally cave in. He finally looked Jack in the eyes. After a moment, it seemed like he was about to smile again.

Jack lowered his brow. He released his touch on Rhys’ cock and sat back down again. “Listen closely,” he started softly. “You’re acting pathetic. Like a little _bitch_. I’m not going to let you cum until you get over yourself and man up.” Any hint of a smile on Rhys’ lips vanished instantaneously. “So turn that frown upside down, if you know what’s good for you.”

Rhys swallowed hard, a precaution to make sure the sadness he was hiding didn’t show in his voice. He shook his head, looking away again. “Whatever. Can we just get this over with?” His eyes showed that he knew he made a mistake before he even finished the sentence, but he was strong enough to not let any of that regret show through his body language. Still, Jack noticed, which was enough.

The audacity was enough to rise a light laugh in Jack. “Oh, but that isn’t for you to say, pumpkin. You don’t have the authority to decide when this is over. I say when I’m done with you.” He moved his fingers and thumb to the base of Rhys’ cock where his balls met his shaft and positioned his fingers just so, threatening to pinch off the throbbing source of blood flow, painfully. “And I’m not even close. My dick has barely twitched since you got here, and if you’d shut up and listen, you’d understand that I’m trying to tell you that it’s your damn fault.”

In an instant, Rhys took Jack beneath the arms and lifted him, and as soon as Jack could blink his back landed on the top of his desk and he was staring at the ceiling of his office, and even quicker rage wiped across his face. It turned out that Rhys, especially with his cybernetic arm, was much stronger than Jack had the keenness to presume.

Jack lifted his head and tried to move, but he was pinned at the shoulders. Rhys was looking down at him, glaring, and Jack glared right back. “What – what the hell do you think you’re doing, Rhys?” The stammer in his phrasing was a slip-up that made him sound weak, but the hate in his eyes made up for it.

Even so, the anger in Rhys’ mismatched eyes was clearer than day, and there was no denying it, especially as it stared Jack right in the face. “I’ll cheer _myself_ up,” he answered, which was particularly vague, and made Jack’s heart start to quicken in pace. 

Jack took a moment to pause and assemble himself, then he realized several folders and papers had fallen off the desk and scattered across the floor along with pens and pencils of the expensive variety. Jack looked back up at Rhys, scowling. “Rhys! You’re going to get on your hands and knees and clean all of that up, right now!”

Rhys took his hands off of Jack’s shoulders and stood up straight, moving his hands to Jack pants and undoing them with fingers clumsy with anger. “Screw you, Jack,” he muttered as he began to unbutton, unzip, and slide the slacks down and off Jack’s legs.

Though he was no longer pinned, Jack willingly stayed in place on his back. It only occurred to him now what exactly was happening. “Oh, fine. If you’re going to throw a fit, you can have your way this time. Whatever makes you feel better.” Jack had to act nonchalant, he _had_ to act in control even if he wasn’t, or his stomach would feel sick, and he wasn’t ready to give Rhys any sort of satisfaction like that.

It took a while but Rhys finally managed to take Jack’s pants off, so they were both bare-assed and vulnerable – a level playing field. The commotion was already causing Jack’s cock to get heavy and begin to fill up, even without being touched yet. This kid was good. Jack spread his legs, trying to look Rhys in the eyes, but the younger man refused outright. 

Only upon catching a glimpse did Jack notice that his socks and sneakers were still on his feet. “Aren’t you at least going to take my shoes off?” he pestered, micromanaging to give himself the feeling of control.

Rhys reacted by moving and hand to Jack’s mouth and sticking two fingers inside, effectively shutting him up. Jack reluctantly sucked on the fingers, wetting them sufficiently to his own liking, before opening his mouth to show non-verbally that he was finished. 

Jack’s inability to relinquish control proved consequential, because when Rhys took his slick index finger and pressed it up and into Jack’s hole, Jack’s frustration caused him to clench up, and Rhys, persistent, pressed a second finger inside anyway, forking and scissoring around inside of him as Jack clenched his teeth and turned his eyes away, refusing to show his discomfort. Jack’s cheeks flushed with anger as his cock stiffened up to attention. He couldn’t help but to be secretly grateful that Rhys had a heart kind enough to use his organic hand, not his cybernetic one.

It took strength but Jack managed to exhale and relax, which, at the expense of his own dignity, was an endeavor. Rhys pulled his fingers out most of the way, but then hooked around the inside rim and up towards the taint, pulling him open as he shifted his hips forward and slipped his dick inside. Jack gasped reflexively, as he was was surprised how well it filled him up, and he tightened himself up around both the cock and the fingers still pulling him open wider.

As Rhys moved back and then in again, Jack latched his legs around Rhys’ waist, instinctively, without thinking, urging him closer and deeper. Rhys pulled out his fingers and moved both of his hands to the sides of Jack’s midsection near his hips, cold metal to Jack’s right and warmth to his left. Rhys proceeded in rolling his slim hips forward and back again, inside and out, slightly, then back in, farther, then repeating the pattern with a damn sexy sort of grace Jack could feel even when he closed his eyes.

Jack had to clench his teeth hard to keep himself from crying out. It felt so good, but he couldn’t give Rhys the satisfaction of making some pathetic noise, no matter how desperately he wanted to. Even stronger was the urge to tell Rhys to go deeper or harder or slower or faster – anything, _any_ command to show that he was in control, but those words would not come out either. 

In the frenzy Jack had started stroking his own dick, its length filling up his fist and beyond. He pumped himself double time to the rhythm of Rhys’ repeated thrusting. The slick sounds and musky smell of sex filled the office, coupled with their panting and the faint squeaks of the rocking wooden desk. The friction between them was building up fast, dangerously so, and they were just as quickly losing themselves in each other as their climaxes drew closer.

With a final buck of his hips Rhys rose up on his toes and emptied himself deep inside of Jack, pushing himself in as far as he could to dump his load. The warmth of the come spilling out Rhys’ dick and filling his hole up pushed Jack right over the edge, and in half a heartbeat he was milking come out of his own dick, leaking all over his stomach and hand.

And they both halted in place for just a moment afterwards, catching their breath, staying inside each other and feeling the warm afterglow bursting through their brains, undermining, just for a moment, any hissy fits or pissy moods that had spoiled their attitudes beforehand.

But it was Rhys who pulled away, taking his hands off and leaving Jack alone. Jack came to his senses and his hole felt empty and his body felt cold without the heat of Rhys near him. Rhys was already cleaning himself up and moving to leave, and for half of a second Jack could not feel the confidence to command him to come back, but that was probably for the best. Rhys didn’t need to be pushed any further today, that was clear.

Still slightly dazed, Jack sat up in his seat on the desk. He put a hand on his stomach and felt, beneath the sticky mess of come, the rapid pace of his own breathing. In all reality, he was probably getting too old for this, but he tried not to think about that just yet. “Feel better, pumpkin?” he called across the room, but didn’t give Rhys a pause to respond. “I don’t see you smiling. Smile for me, baby. Let me see those pretty white teeth.”

If Rhys did feel better after fucking him, it wasn’t showing on his face. The coaxing did absolutely nothing, either. He walked down the steps away from Jack’s desk and found the pile of clothes he’d left near the office’s exit, in the same place he had placed them when he’d walked in, and stayed quiet.

Jack shifted his hips in an attempt to get more comfortable despite the tenderness. The instant he moved, he could feel Rhys’ come leak out of his still-gaping hole and pile into a puddle on the desk. Jack was suddenly glad all of the papers had been tossed to the ground. When turned his head and he saw Rhys dressing himself across the room, he forgot all his anger for having to clean the mess up. Jack smiled at him even though the kid wasn’t looking. “I won’t lie. I really dig this aggressive side of you, Rhysie.”

Finally fully clothed, Rhys didn’t even slow down his pace towards the exit. “I don’t care if you liked it or not. I did it for me, not you.” With that, that asshole got the last word, and the door shut behind him. So after everything, it turned out that it was Jack who was left in a bad mood at the end of the day. What made it worse was that this was probably Rhys’ goal all along.


End file.
